


never gave a damn about the weather (it never gave a damn about me)

by Hattingmad



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hattingmad/pseuds/Hattingmad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper reconnects with a former coworker at a business meeting and makes a different choice.  AKA "the one where Tony has his robots, Pepper needs a break, and Aldrich goes just far enough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	never gave a damn about the weather (it never gave a damn about me)

The first time Pepper catches her boyfriend fucking himself senseless on one of his suits, she figures it's a coincidence. Tony has always been kinky, and she's been working late at the office these days, and the suit with the giant purple strap-on...it's kind of amusing, in its way.

She watches from the doorway as he comes apart, smiles, and doesn't mention it.

* * *

By the third time, she figures it must be a fetish he's developed. It makes sense, doesn't it? He spends a lot of time in his lab, working with the robots...it's kind of a wonder he hasn't thought to make those modifications before now, really. She notes that he's made a metal retractable cock for one of the suits, this time, and is controlling it via a wrist gauntlet, so that it fucks him with jerky motions.

She waits for him to bring it up to her as a new twist in bed; Tony tells her everything, and gods know there isn't much she hasn't heard or tried at this point. But he never does. He knows that she knows, but he just doesn't mention it, somehow.

Pepper files it away, mentally.

* * *

She sees it fairly often, after that, in security footage, in the flushed post-coital sweat Tony has when he greets her as she comes home, in the way their sex life hollows out somehow, though she couldn't have put her finger on it otherwise. He's always been an enthusiastic lover; showy, even. Grandiose.

But he gets quiet, now, when he comes. She wonders who he's thinking of.

* * *

The last time is when she knows it's over. She hears him before anything else, hears Jarvis's voice, gentle yet firm, egging him on like...like a lover.

And she hears Tony, moaning, abandoning himself to it, so different from the way he holds back with her, hears him praising Jarvis, praising himself, _so good, fuck, you're amazing, I'm amazing, never knew it could be like this, god, don't stop, never stop, I love you_...

She holds her breath, turns, walks upstairs. She's surprised it hurts so much. Maybe she never really had him, after New York. All the manuals she read from spouses of veterans with PTSD, the wounded soldier websites, the conversations she's had with Bruce, even... she supposes she should be happy for him. He's found someone to connect with, at least.

That's what she tells herself, that night, as she stares out at the water and wishes there was a manual for this. "My superhero boyfriend has shell shock and is cheating on me--cheating on me?--with his sentient AI butler."

 

She doesn't change anything, at first. Makes no drastic decisions, doesn't change the bank account pin or any of the locks--just quietly contemplates where to go from here.

And then Aldrich Killian walks through her office door.

* * *

The first thing she notices, even before her brain registers how viscerally, gut-punchingly attractive he is, is how he has healed. He must see it in her eyes, how genuinely surprised and happy she is for him. Whatever gambit of physical therapy he's tried, it clearly paid off. He looks more comfortable in his own skin, somehow. More confident.

She almost cries when she sees him, feels the tears springing to her eyes unbidden, just from the startling and sudden joy of something clearly having gone so, so right for him...while Tony fell apart around her ears. While he sunk into himself and his electronics, Killian had somehow risen. And how wonderful that is, to see him happy, smiling, proud...all the things Tony lost after New York.  

"You look wonderful," she says, and means it.  

He laughs, running a hand through his hair.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." His right cheek dimples.   Her nose crinkles up and she tries not to blush.

"No, that's not what I...not that you don't, also... let me start over. It's wonderful to see you looking so healthy. That's what I meant."  

"Thank you, Virginia. It's amazing, what they can do these days. And it's certainly a relief not to see pity in the eyes of my staff anymore." There's a wry resignation in his voice, and Pepper bristles, even though he hardly did it to provoke her. Her eyes flash.

"I never pitied you, Killian. You were an unstoppable force in the lab. Who would dare pity that?"  

"Please, it's just Aldrich. And I know you didn't. I don't think you even saw the cane, half the time. Not that it stopped you from rejecting my dinner invitations," he teases.  

"I wanted to prove myself on my own merits, and I make no apologies for that. Engaging in a relationship with my direct superior would have been counterproductive to those goals. Which, I believe, is what I told you at the time."

He shrugs, straightens his suit, easygoing.  

"So you did. And now look at you, CEO of Stark Industries. Clearly, you had the right of it."  He sounds solemn, but she knows he's teasing, just a little. The hypocrisy of her relationship with Tony isn't lost on her.  

"That was..." he waits for her to fill the silence. But with what? _That was different?_ No, it wasn't.  _A mistake?_  "...he's sort of a force of nature," she says at last, lamely, knowing how awful it sounds. She should be proud of her choices, or own up to them anyway, and why is she defensive, suddenly? Why does she care what Killian--what _Aldrich_ thinks of her?   He just smiles without giving anything away.

"You don't need to justify yourself to me. I promise. But, as enjoyable as catching up with you is,  Virginia, that's not why I'm here."  

"Quite right. I believe you had a project to pitch me?"  

"To show you," he corrects, his eyes now bright with passion, enthusiasm. He pulls what appear to be three steel marbles from his inner coat pocket and scatters them across the table.  "Watch this."  He steps onto the table and extends a hand to her. She looks at it, and him, quizzically.   "This is really more of an interactive presentation, and the view is much better up here." She shrugs, and takes his hand, noting the frisson of attraction that shivers up her spine at his warm, solid grip and the way his thumb brushes feather-light across her knuckles before he squeezes her hand and releases it.  

"Thank you for indulging me." She stands on the table and he stands behind her, a step away from impropriety but a step closer than strict professionalism.

"Behold the human brain."

At once she is surrounded by stars, spinning galaxies, planets in their orbit. The vision is beautiful, breathtaking, immersive. He laughs.  

"My mistake, that's the universe. This is the human brain. My brain, to be exact." The image fades into a large three-dimensional model of a brain.  

"This is your brain?" She raises an eyebrow and turns toward him.  

"Live and in real time. Here, I'll prove it. Pinch me."   She shakes her head no automatically.   "Go on, pinch me. I can take it!"

He shrugs off his suit jacket, rolls up his sleeve, offers her his arm. She reaches out and obliges, pinching hard on his bicep, using her nails, just a little.

Instantly, the graphic representation around her lights up, sharp and sudden.

"The dorso-posterior insulas and mid-cingulate cortexes," she gasps. The brain's pain centers.   He nods.

"You've got it." She watches as the lights dim and then go out in those areas, as another area slowly lights up. It is then that she notices that her fingers are still on Killian's bicep, which is quite defined and lightly haired, and that her fingertips seem to be exploring the contours of his arm ever so slightly. She removes her hand from his arm, but she knows what she saw.  

"The nucleus accumbens, Aldrich? Really?"  He tilts his head at her, unapologetic, his gaze unnervingly warm and knowing.  At least the representation of his brain's pleasure center has faded back to its natural state at this point.  

"A beautiful woman had her hand on my arm. I believe that was the appropriate response. Would you rather I was angry?"  

Pepper Potts is never flustered. She thought that somewhere along the line of working for and with Tony, she had lost the capability to become flustered. Yet there it is, undeniable. Aldrich Killian is tipping her off-balance. She scolds herself firmly, shaming herself for being even slightly taken in by a pretty face. She isn't that shallow. Back to business.  

"Alright, this is definitely your brain. What am I missing?"  

"A good question. It's actually more, 'what are we all missing'...and it's here. In this empty slot." He leans past her to point and enlarge the blank space. She catches a faint note of his scent as he passes. No cologne, just sun-drenched, freshly showered male. She closes her eyes. _Business, Pepper. Business._  

* * *

She listens attentively to the rest of the presentation, steps down from the table and sits on a chair, and puts her considerable intellect toward the problem. For there is a problem here. This technology sounds incredible, and very much worth developing further. But its potential for harm, that's incredible too, and she's not naïve to the world she lives in. Stark Industries can't support it, not as it is now.

But.  

"We have a subsidiary. Well, it was a subsidiary. I bought it about six months ago. It's called AccuTech, and it focuses on human enhancement through technology. Not as flashy as the suits. More accessible." She has her poker face on now. The stern professional. "I'd need to hear more about the theory and practice, the algorithms, the safeguards...we have a fairly strict vetting process, as I'm sure you're aware.  But I'm interested." And she is.

"I know it isn't Stark Industries proper, but as I'm sure you're also aware, we've moved away from potentially militarized tech. So."   She sets out the bait, and she waits.  

"This was just the sales pitch," he says, and winks at her. "I have a much broader and more comprehensive portfolio of information for your perusal...say, tomorrow night? Over dinner, talk shop?"   Pepper considers.  

"I'd like that," she decides.  

"Wonderful. I'll be in touch to set up the details." He leans in, sets a hand on her shoulder, and kisses her cheek.

It's brief enough to be friendly, but his lips are hot and dry, and they linger half a second too long. Just enough time for her to seal the feeling in her eidetic memory. She shivers as he walks away, as she steps back into the office and breezes past Happy's concerned look.  

She only realizes later, getting back to her files and appointments, that she hasn't thought of Tony once.      

* * *

Aldrich, she discovers, is a wonderful dancer. Sure-footed and strong with an innate sense of rhythm. She protests at first, murmuring that it's been such a long time since she's danced, surely she'll make a fool of herself, but Aldrich is having none of it.

“All you need to do,” he says, holding his hand out to her as he walks her away from their table, “is let me lead you.” And so she does, her body remembering the turns and footwork, guided by a touch on her shoulder here, a light pull on her hand there, as they whirl effortlessly around the floor.

“When I gained full use of my legs,” Aldrich says, pulling her in toward him as they narrowly pass another pair of dancers, “I learned everything I could. Rock climbing, hiked the Alps, surfing lessons, ballroom dance...I had a whole world of experiences to catch up on.” Pepper laughs.

“You're a natural! I had to take lessons for twelve years before I could stop tripping over my partner's feet all the time.”

“Nonsense, Virginia. You are the epitome of grace and fluidity, a perfect partner.” The music slows. Her hand goes to his left shoulder, her right hand clasps his left. _He's so warm,_ she thinks, closing her eyes briefly.

“You don't have to flatter me, Aldrich. I'm perfectly capable of assessing my strengths and weaknesses without empty puffery.”

“Who says I'm not serious? It's a damn shame you haven't done this in so long, and frankly I'm surprised to hear it. Does Stark not go in for that sort of thing anymore?”

He must know he's pushing, but they were coworkers, perhaps even friends of a sort once. He'd never been anything but honorable when they worked together, and he'd always made it clear that his interest in her personally would never affect her at work, punitively or otherwise. She hadn't been naïve enough to believe that would be the case in the eyes of the world or even her coworkers, but she'd regretted the need to turn him down repeatedly.

Under other circumstances... well.

She sighs. Her fingers tighten on his for a moment.

“I really shouldn't talk about it,” she says. He squeezes her hand and gazes at her, steady and quiet.

“But you'd like to.” It's not a question. The brittleness of her expression speaks volumes.

He continues to lead her, this time away from the other patrons, out of the restaurant and up an elevator toward the presidential suites at the top of the hotel. His rooms, she assumes, but there should be a mini-bar and—more importantly—privacy for what she's about to say, for what she's decided to reveal. He's right. She wants to talk to someone about it, and she trusts him.

She thinks.

He mixes her a drink. She sits on the edge of an overstuffed sofa, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet up underneath her. Their fingers brush as he hands her the drink, and she feels that perplexing tingle of attraction again. She relishes the feel of cool glass against her skin. She drinks while Aldrich sips a Scotch and waits.

“Alright,” she says at last, quietly. “You have to promise me--”

“I'll be the soul of discretion. I'm here as a friend, not a business contact,” he assures her, smiling gently. “And yes, I'm aware that verbal contracts are binding in the state of California.” He winks, just to cut the tension, and she shakes her head at him, but it works, anyway.

“Thank you. I could use a friend. There's no easy way to say this. Tony...well, New York really did a number on him, not that he'll admit it to anyone. He spent a lot of time in his lab, working... I guess that's when it started. I walked in on him, uh, using one of his suits for sexual gratification.”

Killian raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. Pepper tries not to blush.

“I know, I know. But it's _Tony_ , so I didn't think anything of it. Until it kept going. Getting more elaborate. And then he—he wouldn't talk to me about it, and it started to affect things. Between us. And then...you know Jarvis, his A.I.? I heard him say he loved Jarvis, while Jarvis was controlling one of the suits. I'm at a bit of a loss. I mean, it's not like he's cheating with a person, except... _Jarvis_...”

She isn't sure what she expects. Doe-eyed sympathy, perhaps an 'oh, I'm so very sorry', maybe even puzzled bewilderment (gods know she's been bewildered enough about the whole matter lately). But instead, he seems almost—angry? There's a hard set to his jaw, a determination in his eyes she's never seen outside the lab, where he'd put his considerable intellect to work teasing out equations and problems of science until they bled out their secrets under his gaze.

“What is it?” She ventures, surprised.

“I'm sure it's none of my business, but--” he stops himself, pursing his lips into a thin line. His hands are fisted next to him on the sofa as he visibly exercises restraint.

“Please. I wouldn't have told you if I didn't want a second opinion.”

“It's just... he has an amazing, intelligent, renaissance woman at his disposal and he decides to play with his toys, make love to his CPU, instead? Really? I'm surprised you aren't furious about it. You're a treasure, Virginia. You should be treated like one. Not used as an asset, taken for granted and ignored. When is the last time the man wooed you, for fuck's sake?” He winces.

“I'm sorry, that was crude of me.”

Pepper feels herself tearing up a little, absurdly, and she lets out a wet-sounding chuckle.

“I'm not offended, Aldrich. Thank you for saying that, truly. I'm not going to say I needed to hear it or anything silly like that---I'm not an egotist---but, well...it's been a long time,” she admits.

“Too long.” It, too, isn't a question.

“Yes. I know he's hurting. And I've tried to be there for him in all the ways I can. It's horrid of me to abandon him now, I know, but...I can't compete with machines. At least Jarvis will take care of him.”

“And who will take care of you?” The words hit her harder than expected and she sucks in a startled breath.

“I can take care of myself.” _Just like I always have_ , she adds silently.

“I know you can. But isn't it lonely, up here at the top? I know I've found it so, at times.”

Because of course, Killian is a success in his own right, in more ways than one. He looks up at her under thick lashes, softer in his confession but no less intense. His right hand rests on the back of the couch, and Pepper scoots toward it, almost without thinking, perhaps in answer to his question.

His arm wraps around her, slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away. She chooses, instead, to rest her head on his shoulder. She can feel him smiling into her hair as he presses a soft kiss to her temple.

They sit in silence, looking out the picture window to the night sky beyond. She feels his steady breathing under her cheek, the heat of his skin through the material of his shirt, the comfortable weight of his arm around her shoulders. She feels content, for the first time in a long time. Almost weightless, yet anchored to her body by the scent of him and the not unpleasant prickling of desire in her sex. She can acknowledge to herself that she has always admired Aldrich for his mind and his passion for his work, and that, far from shunning him for a disability she barely countenanced, it was their positions as colleagues that had prevented her from accepting any of his invitations.

It had been awkward, but now...now, as his thumb traces idle circles on her shoulder, she wonders if his passion for academia would translate to other things. It is an idle fancy, and she isn't arrogant enough to believe that he had been pining for her all these years. Nothing will come of it. It is enough to simply be in her body, for once, and enjoy. Her eyes drift shut.

* * *

The next time Pepper is aware of anything, she notices that she feels warm, comfortable and sleepy.

The room is dark and she appears to be laying on—wait. Someone is here with her.

She pays more attention to her body. Her head is resting on a solid chest and her hand is fisted in a silk shirt. An arm is wrapped around her waist, holding her secure. She opens her eyes slowly.

Her gaze travels up the shirt—the top several buttons are undone and she is momentarily distracted by a slope of clavicle, a hint of bronzed skin—to Aldrich's face. His hair is rumpled and his eyes are closed, his lips upturned in sleep. As if summoned by her scrutiny, he opens his eyes. His smile broadens into something sunny and pleased.

“Hello, you,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” she says, a little shy. She kicks herself mentally and reins in the impulse to blush and look away. “I hope you'll forgive me. I guess I must have nodded off...I'd hate you to think you were boring me, because that's not at all the case.” His fingers are splayed over her stomach—somehow her blouse must have ridden up while she was napping, and she is terribly aware of him.

“I took it as a compliment, I promise.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “I will say I had no idea you were a cuddler, Virginia.”

“Oh, god,” she huffs, and now she is embarrassed. “I _am_ sorry.”

“I'm not.”

“Well, I should probably--” she starts to shift, pushing up onto her elbows to move away from him, and freezes as her thigh comes into contact with a conspicuous bulge. She starts to fall over, startled, and he reaches out to steady her, which has the unfortunate effect of causing her to straddle him, reclined as he is on the sofa.

Which is when she realizes that the bulge she felt was a wallet or cell phone. Because, now that she is straddling him, another much larger and firmer bulge is making itself known. She is very aware of the fact that she is only wearing a scrap of lace between her legs.

“Sorry, again,” she says, but it comes out strangled and breathy. He hasn't released her, and she waits for him to do so, waits for him to flush with embarrassment or make an excuse that she'll pretend to believe as she flees the room.

He doesn't do any of those things.

“I'm still not.”

His eyes darken, and she doesn't think she's imagining the desire in his gaze.

“I know the social convention here is to pretend you don't affect me, that I'm not aroused...but I can't bring myself to care, somehow.” Pepper swallows, her heart hammering. The evidence of his desire is between her legs at this very moment, and it takes all her self-control not to rock into it. The sudden flood of her own arousal takes her by surprise as it slams into her hard. Oh, godgodgod, she hopes he can't smell it. As it is, she'll have stained his slacks.

“If I'm making you uncomfortable, I hope you'll say. You're obviously free to leave, or slap me, as you will.”

“I--” she starts. She isn't sure if he moves or she does. Maybe they both do, just a fraction of an inch, him rolling his hips up to meet her as she presses down, and they are aligned. Is it her who just moaned, or was it him? Does it matter?

“Aldrich...”

“Tell me you felt that, too, Virginia. I won't—I won't take advantage of you, not when you're still confused about—” He waves his hands vaguely. “Just tell me I'm not alone here.”

“I felt it.” She can feel herself shaking with the force of her unexpected desire.

“Good,” he says fiercely, and pulls her to him, kissing her deeply. He is deft and sure with his tongue and his teeth, inciting fires all over her body that she can't put out. She grinds against him helplessly, clutching at his shoulders, a constant mantra of 'oh, oh, oh' falling from her lips like a benediction. His hands slide up under her blouse and his thumb rubs at her breast over her bra, her nipples pebbling in response. She hears him groan into her mouth and she bears down on him hard, needing friction. His thumb brushes her covered nipple and Pepper gasps like there's a live wire connecting her breasts and her sex, undulating frantically, the orgasm coming on her so quickly she's totally unprepared. She throws her head back and keens, feeling his erection rubbing against her covered clit as he thrusts up once, twice, three times... He shouts and stills, breathing hard, and she falls against him, burying her face in his neck.

“Well,” he laughs, “I haven't come in my pants like that since I was a teenager.”

“Me either,” she confesses. “Sorry about your pants. I think I may have, uh, contributed to the mess.”

“I'm sure there's club soda around here somewhere,” he says dryly. “I didn't mean to get quite so carried away.”

“It's okay. I think we both needed that.” She offers up a shaky smile.

“Might I presume to call on you again, Miss Potts?” He quips, holding her at arm's length. She looks into his eyes and smiles, releasing a breath she didn't even know she was holding. It could all go to hell in a thousand different ways, and probably will, she knows. But for now--

“Yes. Please do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Do you know what I'm seeing?" by Panic at the Disco.


End file.
